


Hey, Big Spender

by Mackem



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's the use of money if you can't spend it on the people you love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, Big Spender

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for [the following prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/6953.html?thread=32854057#t32854057):
> 
> _Both of Hawke's LIs have lived pretty hard lives and - fugitives from the Templars/Mages, often sleeping where they could find, barely having money for food, wearing often mended clothes, eating bad food - if eating at all. I want to see Hawke spoiling his chosen LI a little by taking him on a shopping trip - buying him anything pretty and useful that he likes. The LI is very shy the whole time, uncomfortable that such amount of money are spent on his humble person, but Hawke is happy he can do this for him. Bonus points for buying some kind of sexy garment the LI can wear to bed._

The lamp outside Anders’ clinic was not lit when Hawke rapped on the door, but the tinkle of glass breaking and a muted curse that came from within confirmed the mage’s presence. Hawke felt comfortable enough to walk inside uninvited; maker knew he’d found enough of his friends waiting for him inside his own house before now.

He peered around the door first, however, curious about the sound he’d heard within. “Anders?”

“Hawke!” The mage relaxed visibly at the sight of his familiar face poking into his clinic, the tense set of his shoulders slumping as he began to brush himself down. “Maker, you have the knock of a templar.”

“What can I say? It must be my manly, muscly arms,” Hawke grinned, and closed the door behind him to slouch against it. “Were you about to flee?”

“Just as soon as the piss was finished trickling down my leg,” Anders complained, but Hawke spotted the fond grin that ghosted across his face as his hands scrubbed at himself.

“That doesn’t look like piss,” he teased, closing the distance between them. The mage was indeed wet; a dark liquid had soaked across his lap and was now dripping to the floor as Anders pulled his shirt free to wring it out.

“I don’t keep jars of urine lying around my clinic, Hawke,” Anders confirmed, and indicated the bench behind him and the shards of glass at his feet. “I was bottling up a potion when -”

“ - When I knocked,” Hawke supplied, managing to look a little apologetic. “Sorry. Surprised, were you?”

“My mind may have been elsewhere,” Anders said with mock-haughtiness. “My own fault for not concentrating, I suppose. Maker, this is unpleasant,” he added, shivering in disgust as the soaked material clung to his flesh. Glass crunched beneath his feet as he traipsed across the clinic, letting himself into his spartan quarters as Hawke followed. He removed his coat, hanging it on his door, and sighed as he looked himself over in a dusty mirror. “Wonderful. I managed to spill it in _just_ the right place to soak my shirt _and_ drawers.”

“Good aim.”

“Your fault,” Anders chided amiably, and stripped his thin shirt off. Nimble fingers squeezed it out into his cracked sink before it was thrown casually into a laundry basket. With no trace of shyness his trousers followed, unlaced and stepped out of with relative grace. Hawke watched the Tevinter amulet bounce against his slim chest as he stooped to pick them up, and whistled as Anders slipped out of his undershorts. “Oh my, have I forgotten to ask you to turn your back?”

“How careless you are,” Hawke chuckled, taking the opportunity to admire his lean backside. “Still, you have an appreciative audience.”

“I’d rather have a useful one. Would you find me some clean clothes while I rinse these?” Anders asked as he poured water into the sink, apparently unabashed by his nudity. “They’ll stain, if I don’t, and I simply couldn’t face awkward questions regarding the state of my underpants on top of dirty looks about my spellcasting.”

“So long as I don’t have to take my eyes off the show,” Hawke said, as he watched his partner work.

“Picturing me in the Blooming Rose, are you?”

“Don’t be silly,” Hawke laughed as he managed to tear his gaze away long enough to open his wardrobe. “Those whores are much classier than you.”

Anders’ grumbling went ignored as Hawke rifled through his meagre wardrobe. His intention had been to simply grab the first shirt and pair of trousers he encountered, but the shirt he reached for had a large hole at the bottom hem. The next was missing part of the collar, the remaining material hanging open raggedly. The next had _two_ holes, beneath each arm, and the last had a large patch on the back, neatly sewn but very noticeable. His trousers were in similar condition; if they weren’t ragged around the hems, they were misshapen at the knees or worn thin in places. Hawke finally selected a pair that seemed past their best but still in one piece and the patched shirt, not to mention a pair of undershorts with a small rip over the left buttock.

“Anders?”

“Mmm?”

Hawke went to him and wrapped himself around the mage, holding out the clothing in one hand as he rested his chin on one pale shoulder. “Your clothes. I think any tailor who saw them would weep.”

“I asked you to bring me clothing, not fashion advice,” Anders chuckled, shaking his head as he took the ragged bundle of material. He slipped from Hawke’s embrace and tossed the clothing onto his bed before pulling on the underclothes, settling them at his narrow hips. “It covers me. What more do I need?” A laugh escaped him as Hawke poked him pointedly in the backside through the small hole.

“’Covering you’ and ‘not making you look homeless’ are different things.” Hawke watched with a raised eyebrow as Anders tugged his trousers on, bouncing a little on the spot as he pulled in order to get them in position. “Do you need a hand?”

“I can safely say I’ve never needed help dressing myself,” Anders said, before turning to waggle his eyebrows. “Now if you offered to _undress_ me…this pair is just a little tight, that’s all.”

“They look…a bit past it,” Hawke commented. Anders glanced down at himself, as if seeing the thinning, worn material for the first time as he struggled slightly to lace them up.

“I suppose they are. I’ve had them for awhile.”

“Awhile?”

“I got them when I was in the Circle, I think,” he shrugged. “I must have filled out a bit since then.”

“Filled out? There’s hardly anything to you, man!” Hawke protested with a laugh, strong hands roving curiously over the bare flesh on display. Anders shrugged.

“There’s more of me than there used to be, at any rate. Meals have become a little more regular since I settled here.”

“What do you mean?” Hawke asked softly.

“Bad as being locked up in the Circle was, it did have _one_ improvement on running free. I found that most caves, useful as they are for hiding from templars, don’t provide hot dinners.”

“So you went without?” Hawke murmured as his heart sank. Even while living forever on the verge of upping sticks and leaving nosy templars behind, his mother and father had always been able to feed their family. Hell, even after joining the king’s regiment he had always found their modest rations more than enough to keep the sharp edge of hunger at bay. It was hard to imagine living as Anders must have; travelling alone, living rough with barely enough coin to feed himself, never certain who to trust or what danger the next day would bring. He tightened his arms around the mage in a sudden rush of protectiveness.

“So your trousers were meant for a slimmer man. And yet you haven’t thought to throw them away?”

“I can’t afford to go around buying new pairs of trousers when I have some that do the job perfectly well,” Anders scoffed, his eyes warm. “We’re not all lords of a Hightown manor, you know, lounging around in our finery.”

“I’m hardly nobility, Anders, but it’s not like clothing is an extravagance,” Hawke pointed out lightly. “You need some new clothes. Unless you’re waiting for the day they just give up and fall off you?”

“I’m eager for that moment,” Anders said, his voice dry as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I hope it’ll happen next time we visit the Chantry.”

“Or maybe it’ll be sometime you’re around Isabella,” Hawke warned, and grinned as Anders paled.

“By the maker. I’d be lucky to make it out alive.”

***

Hawke lounged around the clinic for awhile after Anders lit the lamp, beckoning a steady stream of the sick and infirm into his care. He liked to see his partner work; to watch his clever hands move gently over flesh, to see them heal with magic or more mundane treatments, to hear him diagnose and soothe with that gorgeous voice. A few patients looked askance at him as he lounged in the background, but Hawke cared not. Let people talk about him being in the illegal clinic if they liked. Perhaps his involvement could persuade a few of Anders’ enemies to rethink any plans.

After awhile he brushed a dry kiss to Anders’ stubbled cheek and slipped silently away. He emerged in his basement and found himself wandering his house restlessly, lost in troubled thoughts.

He could not seem to leave behind the sense of…of _injustice_ that sparked through him. Anders had given so much to so many people - his care, his skills, his passion - and yet had so little for himself. It just wasn’t fair.

Hawke couldn’t change the past. And he would try, but changing the attitudes of an entire society would take far longer than he wanted. Still, he thought as he glanced around his manor, perhaps he had other ways to show Anders some appreciation.

***

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I want to!”

Hawke had practically had to drag Anders into Hightown after his intentions had been made plain. The mage had not so much agreed as reluctantly conceded, “I suppose you _could_ spend your money on me…” It had been enough for Hawke.

And now here they were, hours later, surrounded by elegant, luxurious clothing, eyed warily by Anders lest it leap from the hangers and try to be worn.

“We should go. We don’t belong here.”

“I can afford it,” Hawke said lightly. Anders sighed.

“Then _I_ don’t belong here. I live in Darktown!”

“You choose to live in Darktown,” Hawke argued. “You could easily live elsewhere, but you chose to go where you were most needed. And that alone means you deserve the best, love. You let me get you new supplies,” he wheedled, indicating the bulging bag of equipment at Anders’ feet; Hawke had taken him to an apothecary and purchased a pestle and mortar, yards of bandages and gauze, a selection of rare and useful herbs and plants, and a few empty glass flasks . The mage shrugged easily.

“That’s different. They’re for my clinic, not for me. I’ll use them to help people. They’re necessities, not…luxuries,” he added, glancing around the muted shop. “I can live without any of this.”

“You can. You do!” Hawke chuckled, and reached out to grasp Anders’ chin fondly, guiding him to face Hawke once more. “I’m not suggesting you can’t. Merely that you don’t have to.”

“And you don’t have to spend all your money on me,” Anders retorted. “That’s not why I -”

“ - Maker, Anders, I know you don’t want me for my money,” Hawke sighed. “You think I’d believe that of you?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem? Anders,” Hawke said softly as Anders made a face and shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know what you’re thinking. Not for the first time,” he added as Anders chuckled, relaxing slightly. “I’m not trying to…to better you. I’m not trying to show you off, or get you more noticed. It’s not pity, or charity. I just…want to treat you to something nice.”

“You want to…treat me.”

“That’s all,” Hawke offered, a hand stroking his arm softly. “I don’t want to see you going without when I can help you out. You do nothing for yourself,” he scolded lightly. “You work so hard for everyone else, and get nowhere near enough appreciation.”

“You think too highly of me,” Anders protested quietly, his eyes dark. “You know what I am.”

“You’re under-appreciated,” Hawke said firmly, and rejoiced in Anders’ smile. “And I mean to change that.”

“Maker, you’re too good to me,” Anders huffed, but he glanced around the merchandise with a more curious gaze. “I suppose I had better take advantage while I can.”

Hawke pressed a soft kiss to his lips and dragged him towards the underwear.

***

They had hardly indulged. All Hawke had pressed into his hands were a couple of pairs of trousers that actually fit, a few shirts, and enough underwear to ensure he would not walk around with his arse hanging out. Not that Hawke minded that image, particularly.

There was nothing too expensive. Nothing studded with jewels or sewn from golden cloth. Anders had agreed that sturdy, comfortable boots were a must, and had pointedly refused to replace his coat. Hawke had backed down from that request easily enough. It was hard to picture Anders in anything other than his feathered robes.

“Silken undershorts,” Anders chuckled as he nosed through the bags in Hawke’s bedroom. “Why did I let you persuade me to accept these?”

“Because you like the feeling of silk on your intimates,” Hawke grinned, chuckling when the garment was thrown in his face. He had spotted Anders’ flush nevertheless. He smirked as a thought struck him, and strode to the mage with a bag in his hands. “Here,” he added, pressing it into Anders’ grasp. “Something special for you to wear for me, right now.”

“Hawke,” Anders laughed as he opened the bag, an eyebrow arched in bemusement. “There’s nothing in here.”

“Exactly.”

It suited Anders perfectly.


End file.
